


"The obligatory cop-story"

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Cops/Detectives, Gen, I still suck at titles, Mentions of past child abuse, Pre-slash if you read it that way, Serial Killer, description of violence, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, mostly implied though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first, slightly disturbing thought he has is ‘I know those eyes’."</p>
            </blockquote>





	"The obligatory cop-story"

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own a thing, except the way the words are put together.  
> Unbetaed, and English's not my first language, so feel free to point out errors.  
> Criticism is welcomed.
> 
> End note contains spoilers

_The boy shivers in fear as the man in front of him gently strokes his cheek, knowing the pain is always worse when the man is angry enough to be gentle._

***

Castiel was in a hurry. His car had refused to start this morning, and he had no idea what was wrong, except for the obvious: age and wear, but he couldn’t afford getting another and he couldn’t do without. So he’d had to take the bus, and still doing the mandatory coffee and doughnut run, which means that by now he’s hopelessly late, and if there’s one thing the captain despises it’s people who has bad time management skills. In an uncharacteristic display of optimism Castiel hopes that this is the day, where he will actually be inside his office, so that Castiel himself can sneak in and get to his desk without anybody noticing. Of course that’s not what happens, which is why he’s met with solemn looks and an eerie silence that is broken by Henriksen’s loud shout of

“Novak! Get your ass in here!”

***

_The first blow, though expected, is still enough of a surprise to startle him, and though he consciously knows it’ll only make it worse, he can’t help the involuntary reflex that has him pulling his head back. He can see white teeth behind lips turned up in a somewhat sadistic smile, while the man’s eyes are sad as he shakes his head and reaches out to grab the boy’s wrist in a crushing grip._

***

Entering Henriksen’s office the first thing he notices is of course the smug smile of his partner. Having learned all there is to know about the maintenance of cars there is not a chance Dean fucking Winchester’s car would ever **dare** not to start once he turns the key in the ignition. Castiel might actually hate him a little in this exact moment, not that he gets to mull over the thought, as Henriksen glares angrily at them, turning up the volume on the tv in the corner of his office.

“...the body was found in a ditch. And while the public cower in fear of this killer taking their youngsters, the police’s doing nothing to catch the man responsible.”

Inwardly rolling his eyes Castiel sighs, knowing they’re doing the best they can with what they got, but as every other precinct they’re short on money, staff and - in this particular case - leads. Not that it would do them any good trying to say that to the vultures circling the building at the moment, hoping for a statement or update. Hell, judging by the anger radiating from Heniksen he has most likely spent his morning getting yelled at by the mayor, seeing as by now the murderer should have been already brought to justice. Five victims are by anybody’s count five too many, especially since this particular piece of dirt targets kids and teenagers. 

***

_Curling up in the corner he cries silently. The darkness scares him, but he dares not make a sound. So far he’s been lucky, just a few bruises, maybe a cut or two. All things considering it’s nothing to worry about, but if the man hears him it’ll be worse. So he bites his arm, making sure no sounds escape him._

***

”That’s bullshit and you know it, Victor,” Winchester says, as usual not referring to his superior by title but by name. But then again, it seems the only person his partner calls by title - or last name - is Castiel himself, so he supposes Henriksen doesn’t see it as insubordination. And admittedly he is the most effective detective on the force, though not as much a stickler for the rules as Castiel is. Why Henriksen decided they would make a great team, Castiel has no idea. They are constantly at each other’s throats and they not as much talk as they argue. They have both, on separate occasions asked for another partner, Castiel is not proud of it, but he was the first to ask within two days of being partnered up with Winchester. He returned the curtesy not twenty four hours later. Castiel has no idea if the man regrets that or not, and he tries not to think about it either. He has come to respect and, more importantly, trust Winchester, but he’s not entirely sure he **likes** him though. 

Lost in his thoughts Castiel has not paid attention to the argument between his partner and his captain, but he hears Henriksen’s final remark,

”Just get out and get me something. Or it’s you getting your ass handed to you at the press conference tomorrow, and I know how you enjoy that.”

It makes Castiel snicker, but he is careful to keep the reaction inwards, Winchester doesn’t mind people laughing at him, but something about Castiel laughing seems to rub the man the wrong way, and Castiel doesn’t fancy the prospect of spending the day with a pouting Dean Winchester, so he keeps his usual blank face and turns to walk out the door.

”And Novak,” the captain continues, before he can sneak out of the office, “next time don’t bother coming up here, cause then you’ll be guiding traffic.”

He should have expected it, but he thought the captain was too preoccupied to have really noticed how late he was, so he’s slightly surprised though there’s only a slight hesitation before he straightens his back, nods and replies with a “yes sir” and then he’s heading straight towards the water cooler.

***

_He manages to stay out of trouble long enough for the wounds to heal, and to see his brothers getting locked in the dark rooms. Why they had to read that book he’ll never understand, and speaking about it was just asking for trouble. He remembers a time when he would have cared, where he would have been fascinated with a story containing a talking spider, and where he would have read it, no matter the consequences - but that is a long time ago, and now he’s simply glad it’s not him going in there._

_But all good comes to an end, and he screws up and gets punished. First the dark room, and though he’s familiar with it the darkness still scares him. It’s filled with **things** that breathes and that he can’t see, and he wants to scream, but he can’t show any weakness cause then they’ll keep him there for far longer than was their original plan. When they finally let him out he almost wishes they hadn’t. He’s told to take a bath, which he thinks is a good thing, until he steps out of the shower and notices his clothes are gone. He should’ve known better, but he’s exhausted so he walks towards his room, already planning what to wear, only to find the door locked. He almost manages to convince himself that he’s just doing something wrong, of course they haven’t locked his door, when he hears his little sister’s voice. “Dinner’s served, brother. Come join us.” And that’s when he knows that the darkness was the least of it._

***

Driving towards the latest crime scene - and those must be some of the most depressing words in the English language, Castiel thinks to himself - his partner keeps throwing weird glances his way, until Castiel tires of it and with a sigh asks,

”what?”

”Just wondering why you didn’t tell Victor why the fuck you were late this morning. The coffee and doughnut thing is **not** his idea, no matter what the douches at the station tells you.”

It makes Castiel blush a little. He knows he’s been exceptionally naïve, and for far too long did he believe that he was somehow obligated to bring his superiors, though he uses the word in regard to seniority only, their coffee and the likes. In fact he would still have believed this, had they not tried to pull the same number on Dean when he transferred to their station and he had told them to ‘go fuck themselves, as the great bags of dicks they evidently were’. But, he can’t admit that to a man that most likely dislikes him and most certainly loathes that he has to spend the majority of his work time with him, so Castiel simply shrugs and turns his head to look out the window.

”Don’t get me wrong, I love the coffee and whatever it is that’s in it, but we’re grownups, and as such quite capable of getting our own damn drinks,” he seems lost in thought for a few seconds, before muttering, “cause we sure as hell don’t seem capable of anything else at the moment.”

Castiel is surprised, Dean Winchester is after all a cocky and arrogant bastard who never doubts in his own abilities at catching the bad guy and locking him away forever. Never before has he heard this note of defeat in his partner’s voice, and he thinks it actually scares him a little. He has the urge to reach out and touch his partner’s hand while he reassures him that this body is the last they’ll ever find, because they’ll get whoever’s responsible, and that will be what puts an end to crime everywhere, and humans will finally start to live together peacefully. What he does though is saying,

”it’s cinnamon. In the coffee. On your first day you took my cup, and seeing as you seemed to like it, I just kept bringing that for you.”

At this admission a smile breaks on Winchester’s face, and for once there’s neither scorn nor mockery in his voice as he replies.

”I appreciate it Cas.”

Castiel spends the rest or the drive in shock, not only did Dean Winchester call him by his first name, he actually went and shortened it.

***

_He hates this. Never alone, there’s always a sibling following him around. Even in the bath room he’s followed, and just to make it more humiliating it’s always one of his sisters. He’s not sure though if this is meant to be more humiliating for him or her but it makes him angry none the less. He finally found out that he spend three days in the room - it’s difficult keeping track of time when there’s no light - and his siblings expects this to last at least a few weeks. Two and a half week in he’s not all that hopeful, but he supposes it’s the element of surprise that makes this effective. Not that he cares any more though. His brothers’ silent encouragements and his sisters’ averting their eyes to give him an illusion of privacy means nothing anymore. He broke years ago, and all he has left now are his fear, anger and thirst for revenge. By the third week he begins planning._

***

It’s the eyes that catches Castiel’s attention first. The boy’s - though the id states he’s seventeen, Castiel can’t see him as anything but a boy - eye is the same color as a fawn’s, and Castiel can imagine how the color would’ve lit up when the boy was happy. It’s the other that draws his attention though. Unlike its neighbor the left eye has been dug out of the socket. It’s still attached by **something** that makes Castiel glad he skipped breakfast, and it has been sort of punctured so it’s just the membrane that’s left. It’s the only obvious sign of violence on the body, but assuming it’s the same perpetrator as the other four, they will find more once they start the autopsy. Castiel is so engrossed by the boy’s eyes that it’s not until he hears Winchester ask if there’s any sign of rape, that he notices the boy’s naked. The others were dressed in boxers and a shirt, and Castiel can feel his heart sinking at both the indignity this kid has to suffer, and the possibility that there’s more than one killer loose on the streets. He breathes a little easier when he sees the assistant coroner shake his head as he replies.

”That’s highly unlikely. We’ll check of course, but I’m ninety nine percent sure he wasn’t.”

At this Castiel casts a glance in Winchester’s direction, and what he sees startles him: His hands are clenched, his teeth gritted and he radiates anger as if the murderer has somehow offended him personally, and he is not surprised when Winchester declares that they’ll come by in an hour or two to get the preliminary results of the autopsy. Before the assistant can discourage him, Winchester informs him that yes, he knows they won’t be much longer than having had a superficial look at the body and yes, the coroner hates spectators, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck, and the guy just has to put up with them. With that Winchester turns on his feet, grabs Castiel’s arm and drags him off towards their car. Castiel knows how to read his partner’s mood from the way he treats the car, and when Winchester slams the door so hard the car practically **rattles** , he decides to be as small and quiet as humanly possible. They drive for a short while, before Winchester pulls up in front of a diner, exits the cars and starts walking around the car. He opens Castiel’s door, tells him to come along and then strides towards the entrance of the diner. Not really knowing how to handle this side of his partner Castiel slowly unbuckles before locking the driver’s door, taking the keys from the ignition and locking his own door too. When he gets inside the diner he sees his partner sitting in a booth by the window. A waitress is already standing there with a pen and notepad taking his order. As he nears the table, he hears Winchester ordering coffee and breakfast table for two. Castiel sees the disappointed look on the waitress’ face and she quickly leaves to deliver the order in the kitchen. When she returns with the coffee Castiel’s sitting on the bench opposite his partner, still trying to look as if he’s somewhere or someone else, and he can’t help but smile a little to himself when he sees the waitress noticing and putting on a big smile, resuming her flirting with his partner. Not that he notices, he’s busy leafing through his notebook, squinting when he tries to decipher his own handwriting, and with the difficulties the man himself has Castiel is sure nobody else, not even a graphologist, would be able to learn anything from it, other than at some point somebody held a pen to the paper. Castiel is a little surprised when his partner doesn’t even acknowledge the waitress pouring coffee, so it’s left to him to politely thank her, though she’s clearly unhappy about it. The second she’s gone again, Winchester mumbles,

”it’s just wrong, you know. Leaving them as if they don’t matter no more.”

Surprised to hear his own thoughts voiced like that Castiel’s head snaps up and he stares at the man in front of him. Clearly lost inside his own head, Castiel takes the time to absorb the sight that is his partner, and he can’t help but think that Winchester is by far the most beautiful human he has ever laid eyes on. Without conscious thought he’s nodding, agreeing both with Winchester’s outburst and the truth in his own thoughts. His partner blindly reaches for his coffee and doesn’t pay Castiel any attention, still trying to read his notes.

”so, is this a T or a L? The fuck was I writing?”

He keeps mumbling to himself, only interrupted by small sips of coffee, while he glares holes in the note pad. Not wanting to interrupt he takes a few drinks from his own cup, contemplating pulling out his own notebook, but in the end decide to simply space out, hoping that his subconscious will work better without active input from him. The waitress returns with their food, and seeing as neither man pays her any attention she almost throws the plates into their laps when she sits them in front of them. When she turns her back Winchester focuses on the table, grabs the cutlery and starts eating. At the lack of movement from across the table he lifts his head and watches Castiel staring off into space, and he can’t help but smile a little at the sight before he nudges the man’s foot with his own.

”Earth to Novak. There’s food, and since you’re still a growing boy, you probably need it.”

At that Castiel can’t help but frown a little. He had hoped that Winchester would call him by first name now, like he had in the car, but maybe that was too much to hope for. He sighs silently but then he notices Winchester smiling at him, and he can’t help but return it with one of his own.

***

_He discovers a certain knack for computers, and by the time he finally leaves home he has more money than he’s ever dreamt of. He spends the next few years hoarding even more. He takes a little here and a little there, and no one’s the wiser. One day though he takes from the wrong people, but instead of killing him they recruit him. Soon he’s doing the recruiting._

_He makes sure to keep track of the people he grew up with, he even speak with a few of them and from time to time has dinner with the one who still calls him brother, as if it means something special to him._

***

A week goes by and they have nothing. The autopsy, toxicology, they tried goddamn everything, and they still got a huge pile of **nothing**. The hotline mainly consists of old, lonely ladies who spend too much time watching their cat and the occasional nut job trying to get attention by claiming they ‘did it’, and not even most of them admitting to anything criminal. Each day without a new victim is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because nobody getting killed is always a good thing but a curse because a new body might be the only way to **maybe** get new leads, unless somebody happens to stumble over the killer and the shock prompts him to admit everything. Nobody even considers that a possibility.  
Castiel mulls over the case file, looking at every crime scene photo, hoping that something will stand out, but all he gets is a vague feeling that there’s something he’s missing, it drives him a little crazy and his sleep becomes disturbed by nightmares where it’s no longer strangers the killer is murdering but his brothers, sisters and even, in one disturbingly memorable dream, Dean Winchester. When he gets to work that morning that particular dream is still at the forefront of his mind, every bloody detail plays in technicolor behind his eyelids and for the second time while he’s been working here he isn’t bringing coffee and doughnuts. When somebody points this out Castiel almost tears the man a new one, but before he can actually hit him he’s pulled away by none other than Dean Winchester. Relief floods Castiel’s system at the sight, and a knot in his stomach, he wasn’t even aware of, dissolves. Winchester smiles at him, before he says,

”had I known it was such a chore, I would’ve told you to stop months ago,” and then he chuckles a little. “But now you have to tell me where you buy the damn stuff, since I’m apparently addicted.” And the smile he gives Castiel is bright enough to rival the sun, and Castiel blushes and stammers something that’s supposed to be an apology, but Winchester stops him.

”No need Cas. I said it before, we can get our own damn coffee. Hell, there’s a machine in there, it’s not as if we even have to leave the building to get our fix, you know.”

And no, Castiel didn’t, again proving that he is far too naïve. He was told to bring coffee, not to make it after all, and he’s ashamed to say he never went inside the tiny kitchen at the station to see if there even was a coffee maker. Instead of voicing any of that he just sends Winchester a grateful smile filled with the relief he’s still feeling at seeing him alive and well.

They spend the rest of the day actually **talking** with each other, and they discover that they share lots of the same stances on politics, religion and the like though finding a common ground in interests is a little more difficult, sure they both enjoy music, but Dean - yes, he’s Dean now, since he keeps calling Castiel Cas - likes classic rock and Castiel prefers classical. They bond over the feeling of enjoying things well performed and well written instead of over a shared love for a particular work. Dean smiles more this afternoon than he has for the last month and Castiel can’t help but feel proud that it’s because of him. That night he has no dreams.

***

_He sees a kid with these big doe like eyes and he feels something stir in the pit of his stomach. He approaches him, asking for a name, and smiles almost naturally when he’s rewarded with “Aaron”. He doesn’t bring Aaron home, after all people know where he lives and they might drop by unexpectedly, even if they know he hates that, but he brings Aaron with him to the boat. The kid’s rightfully impressed, at least until he sees the cabin on the lower deck. Aaron is a screamer and he delights in it._

***

It’s another few days without progress, and everybody’s slightly optimistic that this killer has stopped. Both Dean and Castiel have the day off, but Castiel had another nightmare, so when the call comes he’s already at his desk. He hurries towards his car, and speeding through town he calls Dean, telling him what he knows - which is nothing more than a location - and then he hangs up. He knows that Dean’ll be there soon. The first, slightly disturbing thought he has is ‘I know those eyes’. Castiel has no idea what he means by that, but as with the last victim he can’t look at anything but the kid’s eyes. They’re very light brown with green flecks, but this time they’re both were they’re supposed to be. Instead the skin under the right eye has been peeled off, baring the tendons and blood vessels in the kid’s cheek. Unlike the previous victims this one shows clear signs of ante mortem violence, but at least the kid’s dressed in the usual boxers and shirt. Castiel is oddly glad at that.

They actually get a solid lead this time. The shirt the kid was dressed in - definitely not his own, as testified by his heart broken mother - was wet when he was found, and since it hadn’t been raining Dean had demanded it checked. The result had been surprising to say the least: the victim was found in a park, but the shirt had been soaked in salt water. Seeing as it’s nearing ten in the evening, Castiel and Dean agree that sleep might be the best course of action, and then tomorrow they’ll go to the beach, marina, anywhere there might be salt water and ask questions. Castiel is reluctant to go though, there are still nightmares to worry about and the uncanny feeling that he’s again missing something obvious, and the nerve wrecking thought that he somehow knew the kid. Which he’s sure he doesn’t, but he can remember thinking that when he saw the body. Dean doesn’t seem to notice, but he has definitely noticed that Castiel is still taking the bus - stupid car had given up on him a few days earlier - so he offers him a ride home. Castiel accepts, he’s far too tired and perhaps worried to take the bus, and he just wants the comfort of his home right now. They don’t talk on the drive, except for Castiel rattling off his address, though he’s slightly surprised when Dean pulls up in front of his small house without ever taking a wrong turn, hell, his own brother still can’t come here without getting lost **at least** twice, and Castiel has lived here for almost a decade. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Dean, who simply smiles and exits the car, and before Castiel has even unbuckled his partner opens his door and beckons him to get out. He’s about to thank for the ride, when Dean says,

”you wouldn’t happen to have some coffee, would you, Cas?”

And he thinks it’s the least he can do, give his partner some caffeine as payment for the ride. Castiel knows that his house is not exactly ‘on the way’ for Dean - yes, he knows where the man lives, and he may have gone there more times than he wish to admit, so sue him - so he nods and asks him to follow. The house is dark and quiet when they enter and not really used to visitors Castiel simply walks towards the kitchen without bothering turning on the lights. It’s not until he hears Dean walk into what he supposes must be a wall that he pauses and turning he says,

"I’m sorry Dean, I forgot you were behind me."

He can hear Dean chuckle lightly before answering with a,

”No harm. But if I just stand here do you think you could turn on some light. Night vision’s apparently not one of my super powers, and I’d prefer not having to drive to the ER tonight.”

Castiel nods and hurries towards the kitchen and the other light switch, and soon the hall is lit up and he starts making coffee. He can hear Dean in the living room, and once the machine’s brewing he goes to join him. Dean’s holding a small photo in his hands, and the instant he hears Castiel, he places it back on the shelf before he turns and with the tip of his ears burning bright red, he says,

”Sorry Cas, didn’t mean to snoop.”

Castiel shrugs and reaches a hand out to take the picture, a sad smile tugging at his mouth.

”My brothers and little sister. Years ago when we were still happy and innocent.”

If Dean finds the statement odd he chooses to ignore it, simply placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and giving him a small nod and a reassuring smile of his own, before he walks towards the kitchen opening the cupboards in search of coffee cups.

***

_Aaron was his first, and it’s undeniable that the boy holds a special place in his heart, but he is by no means the last. Over the next few years an endless string of pretty kids enters his life. Some are almost as special as Aaron was, some are disappointing to say the least and a few leaves him with an empty feeling of loneliness. But no matter what, they all scream in the end._

***

They spend a week questioning anybody that goes near anywhere with salt water, until they one day get a positive response. They’re standing among fishermen and sea dogs when a man, his face crinkled with smile lines and his skin rough from weather and water, squints at the picture Castiel is holding, tilting his head slightly before he spits out the tobacco he’s chewing and says,

”couple days ‘go. ‘board this dark boat. Told ‘im not to go there, but kid said not to worry. There was a man, little taller than you” the man points at Dean, “and light hair. Before you ask, no, I can’t tell you more, and I wouldn’t be able to point him out if I saw ‘im again. Bad feeling about ‘im, but nothing more.”

And with that the old man nods with finality, offering an apology for not knowing more, and not even being able to tell them what kind of vessel it was, before he turns his back and walks towards his own fishing boat. This seems to spur reaction to everybody else, as they too start to move along. Castiel looks at Dean who shrugs and walks towards their car.

They try to locate every boat that has been at the harbor for the past two weeks and tracking down the various crews and fishermen, but they still come up with nothing, and when they leave for the evening their shoulders slump in defeat, still not closer to catching the killer. Castiel turns down Dean’s offer of a lift, and sitting on the bus he almost drifts off to sleep. He jerks awake when he recalls the fisherman who told them about the ‘dark boat’ and he almost falls off the bus while muttering ‘no, no, no, please no’ to himself. He runs home, fumbles with the key and when he’s finally inside he rushes towards the shelf with the photo album. The minute he sees it, he whips out his phone and calls for a cab.

\---

Watching Castiel getting on the bus Dean sighs to himself, silently berating himself for not insisting on bringing Castiel home. Something is up with the other man, Dean doesn’t know what, but Cas has been acting a little strange since they found the fifth victim, and when the fisherman started talking about some black boat his partner had turned a somewhat unhealthy shade of pale. Dean had tried to ask, but Cas had brushed him off, and then they had tried finding the damn thing, and they’ve had no luck whatsoever. Driving home Dean lets his mind wander, thinking about the case, what to eat, his bills, his brother, Cas and the case some more. He makes himself coffee, decides cooking is more trouble than he care for, and the second his cup is empty he face plants on his bed, sound asleep.

It’s the ringing of his phone that wakes him, and his hand flails uselessly trying to grab it, before it goes to voice mail. Incredibly enough he manages, and greets the caller with a grunt. He’s still mostly asleep so it takes him an embarrassingly long time to register that nobody’s talking, though the call connected. Abruptly he sits, instantly alert and tentatively asking if ‘anybody’s there’. He doesn’t get an answer, but he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize saying “Hello, brother” before a click indicates the call has been cancelled.

Dean sits there for a few seconds, before looking at his phone, pulling up the list of calls. When he sees that the call came from Cas he’s up and putting on clothes faster than should be humanly possible. He’s in his car speeding towards the other end of town and Castiel’s house while desperately trying to call his partner. When he arrives at his destination he sees light spilling out through the open door, and he can’t suppress the shiver going up his spine. He enters, Cas’s name falling from his lips, but is only met with silence that almost feels alive. Dean enters the living room and notices the album on the coffee table. He looks down at it, there’s only one picture on the page it’s open at, and he sees Castiel, smiling, with an arm slung around another man’s shoulders. He’s taller than Cas and though he smiles too, Dean can’t help but think that he’s not happy with the situation. What worries him is the fact that they’re standing in front of a yacht, painted dark blue and the man next to Cas has light hair. He picks up the photo, and while he tries to decipher the yacht’s name he’s calling Victor’s home number. His captain picks up on the second ring, and though he sounds annoyed he doesn’t sound as if he was just rudely awaken.

”This better be good, Dean, or you’re doing traffic with Novak next time he’s late.”

”We may have found him, Victor. I need you to not ask questions and just make Charlie meet me down town asap.”

The captain hums something Dean hopes is consent and hangs up, leaving Dean to listen to the silence once again. He shakes his head, and runs to the car. He speeds all the way to the station, and runs down to the lab, where he meets Charlie, giving the girl the photo still in his hand, and orders her to find the guy, panic clear in his voice.

\---

Castiel wakes to a world of ache and the fuzzy feeling that often accompanies wakening and not being entirely sure how you fell asleep in the first place. The second thing he notices is that he can’t move. There’s a headache lurking behind his eyes but he chances leaning his head back, seeing his arms being chained to the ceiling. Feeling a draft he looks down and is surprised to see that he’s naked and his feet are tied together with a nylon rope. There are noises around him he doesn’t recognize, and he’s still trying to figure out what happened when a door opens, and it all comes rushing back.

***

_Castiel sits in the corner, hugging his small, scrawny and bruised knees tight. Big, fat tears runs down his cheeks and he struggles to breathe while remaining silent. The room is dark and he’s alone here, he knows because the man told him, right after he had inflicted those bruises and right before he left through the door and locking it. Eventually he stops crying and the hiccupping subsides too, and soon he finds himself engrossed in a conversation with a spider the size of his hand about what he’s going to do when he grows up. He knows that he’s hallucinating, he’s eight not a complete moron, but it’s nice to have company in the dark, and Charlotte is a stunning conversationalist. They talk for forever, the boy and his hallucination, until the door opens and brings forth light and a teenager. Castiel is up and has his arms wrapped around his brother’s waist in an instant, his small body shaking with the tears he has to hold back, and his brother’s hand stroking up and down at his back, something Castiel has always thought soothing, but this time the hands linger and the boy can’t help but feel that something’s wrong, so he pulls back, his big, round eyes staring questioningly up at his older brother’s face, who simply shrugs and says_

***

”Hello, brother.”

Now, Castiel is no stranger to fear, after all he grew up marinated in the feeling, and then he decided for a career in the police, so he knows fear, he just never associated the feeling with his brothers and sisters. Of course the three of them have been gone for almost a decade by now, so who’s to say they wouldn’t have ended up scaring him, too, but he had thought that his big big brother, the boy he used to hero worship every chance he got, and up ‘til this day still kind of did, would have never instilled this particular feeling in him, but as his brother smiles at him - it’s cold and doesn’t reach his eyes - he once again feels like he’s eight years old and being dragged towards the dark room, where he gets to ‘think about his failures as a son, and how he makes his mother cry when he refuses to see reason’ after some physical reminders as to why it’s best to think long and hard enough that he won’t do it again. He remembers how his brother, who is now stroking Castiel’s cheek with his thumb, would let him out of that room and hold him tight until he stopped shaking and finally fell into an exhausted sleep. He remembers when he had the hallucination and something had felt off with his brother and how he never again sought the comfort of his big brother’s embrace, but instead finding company with his three other siblings, playing with them and trying not to get into trouble. And that’s when it hits him: why there has been this strange feeling of knowing the victims and why it seemed he was missing something. There had been similarities, superficial sure, but in the light of ongoing events undeniably, between the victims and his dead brother and sisters - the thought hits him like a train and he stares at his brother, mouth hanging open in shock, and his voice come out somewhere between a sob and a wail,

”you killed them. Gabe, Anna and Hester. Even...

There are hands on him now, stroking his flanks and back, up and down, his brother shushing him, and Castiel knows that once upon a time this was soothing to him, these were the hands that took away his nightmares and this was the voice that made him go to sleep, but now he is terrified and heartbroken, because he never, not even **once** , had suspected that his brother would do something like that.

”They took you from me, Castiel. I could not allow that. And as for the others, well, it’s not important, but they took your tears, and you always were so pretty when you cried. ”

He leans closer, his breath warm against Castiel’s ear, and Castiel tries to get away from him, but the chains make it difficult, and the hands on his body keeps him in place, too. He smiles, and all Castiel sees is blood and death and pain and he’s terrified and nauseous. His brother **tsks** at him and pats him on the cheek before leaving the room. Castiel knows it won’t help but he still struggles to get out of the chains, he can feel movement, and he knows they’re on his brother’s yacht, probably still in the harbor, though he doesn’t try to scream, he has a feeling that this is where his brother kills his victims, and as such he will have made sure no sound can escape the room. Castiel can feel tears staining his cheeks, an odd feeling given that he hasn’t cried for more than twenty years, not since his brother let him out that horrible room when he was eight, and once again realization dawns on him. He always thought he stopped crying because he started talking with Charlotte when he was in there, now he realizes his mind conjured her to keep him company and stop him from crying, because he subconsciously knew what it did to his brother. This doesn’t stop his tears, if anything it makes them run more freely, and he can feel his airways starting to close up with it and his nose start running. The door open and there’s suddenly light and he can hear his brother’s breath hitch before speeding up slightly. Again there are hands on him and his face is pressed to his brother’s chest, his shirt serving as some kind of handkerchief.

”Still so pretty. All the others just faint copies, never living up to the real thing. I have waited so long for you Castiel, all that I have done for you. You will be even better than Aaron.”

Castiel has no idea who this Aaron might’ve been, but he has no doubt that he’s as dead as the victims they do know, and he has a feeling that soon he’ll follow. He’s a little sad that he doesn’t really believe in any kind of after life, it would have been comforting to think he would meet his siblings again, but the thought is soon driven away by agonizing pain. Castiel has no sense of time, drifting in and out of consciousness, the constant litany of his brother’s mumbled ‘such a pretty boy, ain’t you Castiel’, the cold draft on his skin and the coppery smell of his blood. Sometimes Castiel’s world is white nothingness and at other times it’s the pain and his own silent screams. At first he was surprised with the things his brother had brought, seeing as the other bodies had shown little to no signs of ante mortem violence, but now it doesn’t matter and all Castiel wishes is for this to be over. The next thing he registers is frantic movement and him being placed on something soft, and there are voices sounding urgent, insistent, and nobody calling him pretty or touching him or slicing him in pieces. Castiel thinks it’s a nice change from the last time he was conscious and promptly passes out again.

He wakes up wondering where he is and why it feels as if he’s lying in the embers of a dying fire. He’s thirsty and it feels as if something crawled inside his mouth and died there. There’s beeping next to him, a sound he doesn’t understand, seeing as it most definitely wasn’t there the last time he was awake, but the thing that makes him open his eyes is the sound of steady, peaceful breathing. What he sees makes him think that he’s hallucinating, because in a chair next to the bed he’s lying in sits none other than his partner, Dean Winchester, fast asleep but with worry lines creasing his forehead. Castiel can’t help but stare at the man, trying to figure out how he’s here, hell how they’re both here, especially since ‘here’ seems to be some hospital room. Apparently Dean feels him starring, cause no sooner has Castiel had the thought before the man opens his eyes and stares back at him. The worry is still clear, but when he sees that Castiel is awake he smiles, reaches out to grab the hand on the rail and wispers,

” hiay Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> I purposely didn't name the brother. This is because I figured it could be none other than Lucifer, but nobody would call their child that (I hope) and renaming him seemed weird. Besides halfway through I remembered that Michael was kind of a douche, too, so I eventually decided to leave it up to you, dear reader, if it's Lucifer or Michael who's the killer here.
> 
> If you recognize the book from wich some of the flash backs were stolen I salute you for your great taste in books - but I will admit to have never read "Charlotte's Web", all I know about that particular book comes from Wikipedia.


End file.
